


to fall upon your sword

by kemia



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cursed Sword AU, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23195830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kemia/pseuds/kemia
Summary: long ago, faerghus fell to ruin and was erased from the course of history. all that remains of that era a thousand years later is a blade possessed by the spirit of a former warrior, and when the blade is discovered by a curious scholar, a grand clash of two personalities who would once have never met takes place.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	to fall upon your sword

**Author's Note:**

> HI EVERYONE! i'm really excited about this au! it was a random brainchild that i had one night while thinking about felihardt that i so desperately wanted to put out into the world. a special thank you to my friend jay who has helped me significantly with building my idea of this plot and this world!
> 
> i hope you enjoy this work and the rarepair content that is to come! my twitter is @vestraegir for info/updates on my content, and if you'd like to take me out for coffee, my username is keminya!

_In the kingdom of Faerghus, there was only pain and unease. The king had been toppled, the palace gates were shuttered, and curses filled the air with dread, its own kind of slow-acting poison. There were very few people left in the country to stand up to the insurgent mages, their leader wielding a far more fearsome magic than anyone could dare to oppose._ _  
_ _  
_ _The Fraldarius family was the kingdom’s only remaining hope, and the only one who continued to evade capture was the youngest son, Felix. He was headstrong, and the most skilled man in the country at the end of a sword._

_That headstrong attitude, however, is what eventually brought him to his knees in the very palace that he once protected._

_“You just couldn’t wait to see your father or your brother again, could you? Or, perhaps you were looking for that poor King Dimitri? So, which was it? Hm?”_

_The contemptuous sneer on the woman’s face lined the inside of Felix’s throat with venom. “Like I’d tell you a damn thing. If you’re going to kill me, get it over with.” The spell that bound him tightened, painfully so, and he could only grit his teeth to keep from crying out - to keep from giving Cornelia any pleasure._

_It had some effect, at least, as Cornelia’s vicious smile fell. “You’re making this no fun. At least beg, or something.” The magic within her gloved palm crackled as she breathed in slow, her wicked smile returning as she exhaled. “... No, no, I have a wonderful idea. Just brilliant.”_

_With her free hand, she kneeled and picked up Felix’s cherished sword, eyes flickering to the enchanted shield that now lay feet away from its inheritor. Within her grasp, the blade became swarmed with tendrils darker than night, enveloping it in a sinister purple glow._

_“Just killing you off wouldn’t be very entertaining, now would it? I’m sure that’s what you want right now - now that you’ve failed your family name, your kingdom, your country. It must be the only thing left on your mind.”_

_The smile that Cornelia wore as she looked into his eyes would surely haunt Felix well into the beyond. “Only when the sword and shield are reunited can this curse be broken. May it last all eternity under my rule.”_

_Then the blade sunk into his stomach. He didn’t even have the time to scream before the world became a void._

* * *

Linhardt was hardly ever interested in weapons.

To him, aside from the occasional interesting magical trait worth studying, they were only symbols of carnage. He much appreciated this era of peace; it allowed him to travel and study as he well pleased, at his own leisure. Well, almost exclusively at his own leisure - due to his constitution, he rarely traveled far. It was much easier to tailor his interests to what was readily available to him.

As much as he had loathed getting out of bed so early in the day, a Crest scholar in a nearby village possessed a book about Crest-related archeological finds that he desperately wanted to sift through. _A short walk,_ he’d thought, _then I can go back to reading in my nightclothes._

It _was_ a short walk - a relatively peaceful one, too. Absolutely nothing bothered him, not the chirping birds, not the rushing brook, not even the unnatural fuchsia glow that stabbed into his peripherals -

Actually, that bothered him. Still, he was less bothered than intrigued. Linhardt, though hardly interested in weapons, _was_ interested in unnatural occurrences. He stopped in his tracks, breaking from the beaten path and following the path the light led him on. The odd pulse of color only grew stronger as Linhardt waded through a massive thicket, into a patch of brush that wanted to grab his attention so badly.  
  
Yes, it was a weapon. A rather ornate one, at that, with a blade that glinted as if just tenderly kissed by a blacksmith. Despite its radiating newness, however, it gave off the vibe of some old, majestic thing, unearthed but never to be touched for fear of its fragility.

Yet, such a thing wouldn’t stop his hands from moving. Without the hesitation of a sane man, he reached out and grabbed the sword by the hilt, tilting it to and fro to observe it further.

“Are you another one of those bandits?”

The voice didn’t seem to come from behind him, but there was no one in front of him, either. “Bandits?” he asked, turning his head over his shoulder. Only trees and an empty path.

“A merchant, then? I’m not for sale, and I serve no one.”

Linhardt looked to his left and his right. Still no one.

“Down here, you idiot.”

He looked down. Just the sword.

“I’m almost certain that anyone who was looking to lure me into the woods and ambush me would have done so by now, so I’m going to go out on a limb and suggest that this sword in my hand is talking to me.”

“No shit.” The voice was gruff, honed, and, as Linhardt noted, like that of a sellsword’s - or, at least what he assumed most sellswords sounded like. Like the crunch of dirt after a passing rain, or the dull thunk of an axe against a tree trunk.

“It’s not exactly a “no shit” moment. That’s usually reserved for things that are supposed to happen.” 

Now, were he anyone else, he would certainly question if he were of right mind - maybe he’d mistakenly cooked up some rotted fish, or swapped some Albinean berries with poisonous ones. But, after all of the odd phenomena he’d observed in his lifetime, Linhardt could at least humor this possibility a little longer. 

After all, a talking sword? Much more interesting than Crest archeology. For now, at least.

“So, are you a ghost? It would be quite a discovery if there was evidence of paranormal activity on a corporeal level.”

The sword ghost scoffed at him. “Really? _That’s_ the first thing on your mind? Everyone else ran off screaming like cowards. The last one had the gall to _throw me_ out here and shrieked like a girl.”

Linhardt ran his eyes over the blade. “Looks like you’re fine, though. No serious wounds to speak of.”

Whoever this was, they sounded vaguely disgusted with Linhardt’s flippant attitude. “Are you really an idiot? _Why_ aren’t you bothered by this?”

Lithe fingers traced carefully over the decorated hilt of the weapon. “Well, it would seem that there’s some previously unbeknownst-to-me magic that’s possessing this weapon and making me talk to myself, so I might as well humor the idea while I ponder the implications.”

For a long while, the other voice stayed silent, leaving him to said pondering. Had such a wonderful prize truly been passed between bandits and merchants, all abandoning the amazing discoveries to be had from it out of an asinine fear of _ghosts?_ Would he be the first to uncover its secrets? Would he -

The silence broke, as did his contemplation. “...Whatever. You’re the first person who’s ever actually _responded_ to me, so I guess this is the best chance I’ve got.” There was a brief hesitation, as if the ghost inside the sword was preparing something, and had been for some time.

“...My name is Felix Hugo Fraldarius. I’m the youngest son of the Dukedom of Fraldarius. I was bound to this sword by the witch, Cornelia, when she overthrew the kingdom of Faerghus. I… _ugh…_ I _need your help_ to break the curse on this sword.”

So it _was_ magic, but that wasn’t the part that got Linhardt’s attention.

“Did you say the kingdom of Faerghus? As in the Holy Kingdom?”

Felix sounded incredulous. “Yes, you heard me. Do you have something to say about it?”

“Well, considering that the Holy Kingdom hasn’t existed for over a millennium, I’d say we have a lot to talk about.”

* * *

This was perhaps the first time that Linhardt felt less comfortable inside of his quarters than outside them.

There were multiple other researchers that inhabited these halls, and one would undoubtedly question the sheer amount of chatter coming from Linhardt’s room, given that he often spent entire days so focused that he went without uttering a word. With the potential information that he could glean from this find? He’d first pretend to be losing his senses before telling anyone anything.

He realized that he could only hear the voice - rather, Felix - if he held the sword. He also learned that he couldn’t hear Felix in his sleep, even if it remained in his hand. (That was nice. He wasn’t planning on sacrificing his nap schedule, but he wasn’t planning on letting the thing out of his sight, either.) There were plenty of mysteries that surrounded this magic, but nothing recorded in any of the history books spoke of magic that could seal the soul - or, he didn’t have access to the ones that did, which irked him to no end. 

It made him want to stay up all night, probing Felix over every little detail, until the only light in his chambers was the flicker of an oil lamp on his bedside table.

“I’ve never heard of the Fraldarius Crest. The only Crest that is mentioned in the few writings about the Holy Kingdom is the Crest of Blaiddyd.”

There was a scoff. “Of course it’d be the boar king who’d make it into your books.” The tone of his voice was laced with a harsh blend of bitterness and sadness, though Linhardt knew there was nothing he could possibly do to comfort the man inside the sword. He could hardly imagine spending an eon within a dark shell, unaware of the passing of time.

It also wasn’t exactly on his mind, unfortunately, when there was a trove of treasure to be uncovered.

“I always knew there were lost Crests, but to think I’d get to be the one to discover one… There’s so much that can be gleaned from conversing with you that has never reached the ears of any historian. It’s exciting.”

“Hey!” It was a bark that made Linhardt’s ears ring from the inside. “I’m _not_ your experiment. This isn’t a _game._ Either agree to help me find the shield or you’re useless to me. I won’t speak another word.”

With a pout, Linhardt set his chin into his free hand. “That’s annoying. Dangling just enough information for a thesis right in front of me and then telling me I have to go get the proof myself.” He sighed. “I’m not cut out for long, winding quests, you know. You couldn’t have picked a worse person.”

“You can whine about it or I can tell you how to get to Faerghus. Your choice.”

Linhardt despised his brain’s desire for the unknown right about now. Quests meant fighting and travelling and training… But the opportunity to be the first man in modern society to uncover the secrets of a hidden kingdom? Enticing. _Too_ enticing. Maddeningly enticing.

“If I agree to -” He froze, swearing he heard a shuffle from behind his chamber door, but it passed before his languid eyes caught up. Being on edge was uncomfortable for him, _foreign_ , even... In a lower voice, he continued, “If I agree to go look for this shield, you agree to tell me more about your life. There’s too much I want to know for me to pass this up.”

“Whatever,” Felix replied, and Linhardt could feel an eyeroll somewhere within the sound. “I have no idea what happened to Faerghus that made it completely disappear from memory, but I doubt it’ll be simple. I’ll teach you about me, and about how to wield my sword so you actually stand a chance and aren’t so… _pathetic._ ”

“Can you see what I look like?”

“No, but I can tell by the way you talk that you have no idea what you’re doing.”

Linhardt’s lips found the faintest of smiles. “You’re not far off. I’m very much a pacifist.” Looking toward his door, he clicked his tongue, then pulled his legs up from the edge of his bed. He curled himself into his blanket, reaching over to dim his lamp with a yawn.

“What are you doing? Are you… going to sleep? We’re not done talking about this.”

Linhardt yawned again, louder this time. “Well, I am. If I’m going on a _dangerous_ mission, as you say, then I’m going to at least get one last good sleep in this bed.”

There was a brief silence. Then, though only a quiet grumble, he heard, “Fine. Good night.”

Those words trailed off into a fine dream of a kingdom of illusion, with himself a glorious knight wading through the mirage toward a faceless king. Not exactly his usual style, but a fine, whimsical dream nonetheless.


End file.
